Let's have a party
by Potix
Summary: For a Tumblr prompt from Potterlockianegalitarian928: "Sherlock uses trick-or-treating with baby Watson as an excuse to see/spend time with Molly". Twisted a bit because... Well, I'm late and it's not Halloween anymore...
1. Chapter 1

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

 **For a Tumblr prompt from Potterlockianegalitarian928: "Sherlock uses trick-or-treating with baby Watson as an excuse to see/spend time with Molly". Twisted a bit because... Well, I'm late and it's not Halloween anymore...**

* * *

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"I mean, are you really, really sure?". Mary's voice was sweetly mocking, but her daughter didn't seem to catch it.

"Yes, Mummy!"

"Beyond any doubt? Because there will be no time to change plans, if you'll change your mind another time…" John tried his hardest to avoid smiling at his daughter, but failed miserably. His little girl was a bundle of excitement and trepidation, and he wouldn't want her any other way.

"Cross my heart, I won't, Daddy! That's what I want, what I really, really want!"

"Well then... What do you think, Mary?"

Lizzie fell on her knees, her hands dramatically in a praying pose."Oh, please say yes, Mum! Pretty please!"

"I don't know, she still seems a bit dubious to me... Elisabeth Sheryl Watson, are you really, really, really sure?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!", she shouted, every yes louder than the others.

"Alright, I think you convinced me. Fine, you can have a masked party for your birthday! And now, I think I've heard someone picking the lock on the door… Even if we gave him a key years ago! Run to your godfather and gave him the good news... I'm sure he will be thrilled!"

Lizzie didn't waste any time, and arrived at the door just in time to slam into her godfather's long legs.

"Uncle Sherlock, you wouldn't guess what I will do for my birthday!".

Her godfather smiled benignly at the little Watson. "You're right, Lizzie, I wouldn't guess it, and you know why?"

"Because you don't guess, but deduce?"

Sherlock lowered himself, until he was at her eye level. "And that's why you're my favourite goddaughter, Lizzie!",

"But I'm your only goddaughter, Uncle Sherlock!", she answered with a chuckle.

"True, but you are very clever, nonetheless. And about your birthday, let me see…". The consulting detective stepped back, and watched her intensely for not more than ten second, before shuddering dramatically.

"Lizzie, really? A masked party?".

"Yes! Isn't it fantastic, Uncle Sherlock?". The little Watson started to jump around him, waving her hands around excitedly. "And you're going to help me, Mum and Dad told me that you're an amazing party planner!".

Sherlock shot an annoyed look at her parents, who were approaching them in the hall. "Of course they told you that, those two id-"

"Language, Sherlock!", Mary admonished him, soon followed by her husband. "Yes, Sherlock, mind your use of vocabulary, please. There are innocent ears here, and we would like them to remain pure and immaculate for a long time…"

Sherlock couldn't help but glare at his best friend, and he was ready to add a proper reply, when he felt Lizzie tugging at his Belstaff.

"Uncle Sherlock, you will help me, won't you?", she begged, already on the verge of tears. Well, they were fake tears, he could see it clearly, and she would probably need a reprimand for trying to fool him with such a cheap and childish trick… But she was a child, after all, and he was feeling really altruistic, as of late.

"Of course I will…", he granted, and he was rewarded with a tight hug on his legs. "And now go and get your jacket, we're already late and Molly had already texted me twice, asking where we are".

Lizzie sprinted to her room, and Mary took advantage of her daughter's absence to warn Sherlock.

"Remember our deal: no dissection until-"

"She's ten years old, I know. Sometimes you're so boring, Mrs Watson…", he muttered back.

"Of course I'm boring! I'm a mother, now! Plus, I had you to practise on, not long ago", Mary laughed.

Lizzie's loudly stepping down the stairs interrupted them. "I'm ready, Uncle Sherlock! I can't wait to tell Aunt Molly the good news!"

* * *

When they arrived at St. Bart's, Molly was already waiting for them outside the hospital. "I finished earlier and you two were late…", she started to complain, the smile on her lips showing that she was not really annoyed with them.

"It's my fault, Aunt Molly… But it was for a good cause, I promise! Mummy and Daddy finally allowed me to have a masked party for my birthday!"

"Oh, but it's a wonderful news, Lizzie! Have you already decided what do you want to dress as?" the pathologist asked, genuinely interested.

"She couldn't stop talking about a certain Thor guy during the cab ride... ", Sherlock said, and Lizzie turned to him, glaring.

"I've already told you to that I'm going to be Faerie Thor…", then she turned to Molly, explaining. "You know, like Thor, with the hammer, but I will have wings too, and a red tutu. Will you help me, Aunt Molly? I need an adult to help me making my wings, because Mummy and Daddy don't allow me near scissors, yet."

"Of course I will, Lizzie! And I think you had a great idea for your costume; in fact, you know what? I think it's going to be the greatest costume at your party!"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. It was obvious that Molly was very fond of the little Watson; she always encouraged her, and praised her (sometimes) ridiculous ideas; in return, Lizzie simply adored Molly, and she had already promised that she would cut dead people like her, in the future. "This way, I'm going to help you catch the bad guys, like Daddy and Aunt Molly do!", she had proclaimed one afternoon, with confidence.

"What about you, Sherlock? What are you going to dress up as?". Molly's cheerful voice interrupted his musings.

The consulting detective made a face. "As myself, it's obvious. Only the children are going to get into those bizarre costumes for the party, aren't they?".

Both Lizzie and Molly shook their heads, an amused smile on both their mouth. "Uncle Sherlock, I thought it was obvious! Everyone is going to be wearing a costume, silly!"

"No."

"Please, Uncle Lock!". Lizzie used to call him "Uncle Lock" was she was very little, and every time she wanted him to do something for her, that he would find utterly preposterous.

"I've already agreed to help you with the party's organization, you can't ask me to stay in a room full of children and adults I will probably despise, dressed as something as stupid as…". He stopped when he noticed that Molly was looking at him sceptically, and that Lizzie was another time on the verge of tears. Real tears, this time.

He let out an aggravated sigh, sorely disappointed at his own lack of resolution. Molly's disapproval, paired with his goddaughter's pout, had the power to make him embark into the most foolish adventure.

"I don't know why I waste my time with you two… And I'm disappointed, especially with you, Dr. Hooper. Joining forces with a five year old, just to make fun of the poor consulting detective…", he mocked the pathologist, and then lowered himself until he could take Lizzie in his arms. "You, Lizzie Sheryl Watson, or even worse, speaking like a two year old, just to trick you old uncle! I'm sure your parents will finally punish you, as I've already told them to do, you little rascal!"

Lizzie started to laugh at his mock scolding. "No, they won't!"

Molly agreed promptly. "Of course they won't, Lizzie. On the contrary, I think they will give you a reward…", she chuckled.

Sherlock turned to her, pleasantly surprised at how at ease Molly Hooper was around him, nowadays. Thanks to Lizzie's precocious interest of science, he had started to spend more time with the pathologist, doing trivial things, like taking his goddaughter to the park to take samples of soils to analyse later at St. Bart's, or simply accompanying both of them to that ice-cream parlour just a block away from Baker Street, explaining to them the process behind ice-cream-making. It had occurred to him that sometimes, more often than not, he was the one that suggested a visit to Aunt Molly, using his goddaughter as a justification to be in Molly's company.

The way her eyes shone when she was playing with Lizzie, or the sound of her laugh, when his goddaughter managed to trick him into doing something ridiculous... All those little details had taken residence in her room in his Mind Palace, threatening to occupy even more space.

He would have to examine all this rinformation later, alone, in the peace of his flat… But right now, he had to fulfil a promise.

"Enough with this silly talk. Ms. Watson, are you ready for a visit to the Old Operating Theatre?"

From the way Lizzie started to jump around him rather wildly, Sherlock managed to understand that his goddaughter was more than prepared; on the other hand, Molly didn't seem so certain.

"Did John or Mary give you their permission to bring their daughter to a place which has the potential to scare her, permanently?"

Sherlock lowered his head until his lips were at the level of her ears. "I have every confidence that she is going to be fine, Molly. Her father is a former army doctor, and in his spare time he helps me, his best friend and also his daughter's godfather, solving crimes; her mother is a former spy, and now a nurse. And you, Dr. Hooper… Well, I don't think you need to be reminded about your profession, don't you? Plus, what the Watsons don't know, it can't hurt them. And, if you are a good girl, I think we can find the time to make a quick stop to the Gordon Museum of Pathology…", the consulting detective whispered, conspiratorial.

Needless to say. It didn't escape to his heightened senses how her breathing quickened at his proximity, or the way she bit her lower lips, leaving a red mark on the flesh, that made him wonder if… No, he had no time for that; Lizzie was looking at them curiously, and probably she was ready to ask something potentially embarrassing.

"So, the decision has been made. To the Old Operating Theatre, let's go!"

* * *

On his way home, after seeing home both Molly and Lizzie, one question continued to nag at his mind. Strangely, it came from his goddaughter, and it had been aimed to his pathologist, while they were discussing the best way to assemble Lizzie's costume.

"Aunt Molly, what are you going to dress as, for my party?"

He was concentrated into finding a good excuse for the Watsons, in the case they would be too annoyed at his choice of entertainment for their daughter, but he found himself surprisingly interested in Molly's answer.

"Oh, Lizzie, I have already decided what I'm going to wear. I think I have just the perfect costume, but…". She stopped, and locked her gaze with his (since when did her eyes sparkle with such mischief?), before she finished with an enigmatic "It's going to be a surprise".

Later, when he was sprawled on his sofa, absorbed in his thoughts, without notice, a fashion show started in his Mind Palace. He was the only one in the audience, and there was only a mannequin, modelling for him only: Molly Hooper.

First she appeared on the runway dressed as a ridiculously cute bee, complete with wings and antennas; her yellow and black-striped knee socks shouldn't be that much alluring to him, but he couldn't take his eyes off them. The Molly in his Mind palace was certainly more wicked that the one he associated with, because she had the audacity to wink at him, and in a blink she was wearing her lab coat… with nothing underneath it.

Of course she wouldn't dress like that for a children's party, he chided his imagination: but in the meantime, he couldn't help but ponder if she had done it before, for a former boyfriend, and it surprised him how the thought of his pathologist, naked under her lab coat, for another man, made him uncomfortable. Yes, he had done his part in chasing away the inadequate partners she had chosen to waste her time with in the past, but it had been only because they threatened to steal from him his precious and valiant coworker, not because he was jealous…

"No, no, no! I'm not supposed to think about her like that! She's Molly Hooper, for goodness' sake! Strong, expert, clever Molly Hooper…". His mind conjured his pathologist wearing a grey tailored dress, and a pair of black heels. He had seen her dressed like this several times, when she had a lesson with her students, or a budget meeting; he had always ignored that front slit that showed just a bit of her toned thigh, or how, behind her horn-rimmed glasses her soft, brown eyes twinkled, full of playfulness and knowledge at the same time.

"Go away! Stop this silly charade and leave me alone!", the consulting detective ordered to his fantasy, and all the Molly Hoopers disappeared, running away in their room in his Mind Palace, giggling at his discomfort.

He sighed, flustered and bewildered at his reaction at Molly's different incarnations. Lizzie's party was going to be in seven days, and it was going to be a long, frustrating week for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

 ** **Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.****


	2. Chapter 2

**Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.**

"No, Uncle Sherlock! There's no need to fold the napkin like peacocks… I want hammers!". If Sherlock Holmes had once thought that beating James Moriarty (twice) had been hard, well… It was only because he had not helped a toddler to plan a masked ball, yet.

Lizzie had requested for him to go with her to at least three different toy stores, searching for the right accessories for her costume; he had prepared twenty written invitations for the party, and then he had to throw them away thrice, because the little Watson continued to change her mind about the colours, and the fonts… And now she was insulting his napkin-flodin ability!

He needed a break. "Lizzie, what would you say if I were to propose to you a visit to the Natural History Museum?"

The little girl started to jump and sprinted to grab her coat, and Sherlock exhaled a sigh of relief. A stroll in the Wildlife Garden outside the museum was what he needed: it would provide a relaxing environment for him, and hopefully a means to tire Lizzie out, and make her a bit more compliant to his ideas.

They were sitting on a bench, in front of the bee tree, in quiet contemplation of the insects at work, when Lizzie asked his godfather "Uncle Sherlock, tell me again about when I was a little baby!"

The consulting detective tilted his head slightly to the left. "You mean last week ?"

The little Watson huffed, annoyed. "Uncle Sherlock, please, don't be silly."

"Oh, sorry! You mean last month, obviously!", Sherlock apologised, and Lizzie decided that it was useless to get mad at him, because he was old enough to understand that his jokes were worse than Aunt Molly's ones, and if he didn't want to see it, she could have nothing else to do but play along.

"No! When I was very, very little!", she giggled.

Sherlock let out a fake shudder. "Oh, well... Back then you were just a tiny, slobbery monster. Your skin was full of wrinkles, and red as a tomato; you were smelly, and a real nightmare for my delicate hearing when you decided to "entertain" me with your off-key voice."

"And now?"

Sherlock turned, smiling softly at her. "Don't tell anyone, but I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"Really? Even more beautiful than Aunt Molly?"

Lizzie observed how her godfather's cheeks changed colour, a delightful shade of pink. "Well...Who- Who said anything about Molly's beauty?"

"You just did!", Lizzie announced triumphantly, before leaving the bench to look out for frogs in the pond.

" _Taken in by a five years old… Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Sherlock Holmes?"_. A stern voice, too similar to his brother's, reprimanded him.

"She's almost six…" he rebutted, and a couple walking by his side watched him strangely. He made an attempt at smiling pleasantly, but from their expressions he deduced that they were even more worried now. He left the bench, wondering how Lizzie had guessed his attraction to Molly. Was he so obvious? And if a toddler could see it, how could he hope to conceal his… " _Feelings? Don't tell me you are falling in love with Molly Hooper, brother dear…"_ Mycroft's annoying voice returned to the fray, and Sherlock came to a grinding halt.

Was he really falling in love with his pathologist? The thought alone was at the same time laughable, and terrifying. He was a consulting detective, the only one in the world, and he didn't have time to waste with foolish things as emotions, for goodness' sake! He appreciated Molly as a very capable pathologist, as a loyal friend, as a very intelligent, and caring, and attractive woman… But nothing else! It didn't mean that he fancied her! Yes, as of late he was spending a lot of time imagining how it would be to wake up next to her, being the first thing she would see as she opened those sweet, warm eyes, and to swallow any palyful objections with his lips as he kissed her, to convince her to remain in bed all day… But it wasn't something pathetic, like choosing their children's names (Charlotte and Emma, for the girls; Samuel and Nathaniel for the boys), or composing a melody inspired by her, wasn't it?

" _Do you need me to repeat to you why it would a horrendous, nefarious, and catastrophic idea to pursue a romantic relationship with Molly Hooper? I would never grow tired of repeating to you that caring is-"_

"Would you just shut up ?!" he shouted at the fictional Mycroft lecturing him in his mind, and without realizing it, he reached Lizzie at the pond.

"But I wasn't speaking…", Lizzie argued, looking at him worriedly.

"Right. Of course, I was just talking… To the birds. Yes, the birds… They're a bit too noisy today, don't you think?"

His god-daughter eyed him skeptically for a few seconds. "If you say so… Are you sure you're ok, Uncle Sherlock?".

Oh, dammit… The girl was already as perceptive as her mother. No need to waste time with fake answers, then: she would identify his fibs, and later tell her parents how embarrassing it was to witness his adult godfather trying to mislead a six years old girl… and failing dramatically.

He tried to take time by proposing to go to their usual ice cream parlour to taste the new flavours, but during the entire walk he could feel Lizzie's inquisitive eyes on him.

Finally, in front of a small cup of dark chocolate ice-cream, he capitulated. "Lizzie… I have a confession to make. I know I could trust you won't-"

"Is it about Aunt Molly?" she asked back, licking her spoon skilfully.

"How do you… You know what? I don't want to know. Probably your mother is teaching everyone in your family how to detect my fibbing, even that foetus growing in her womb… Thankfully your father is still repeating the year."

"What is a foetus, Uncle Sherlock?". The question made an icy shiver run down his spine. Mary and John would kill him, then bring him back to life and kill him again. He needed a diversion.

"I think I'm harbouring romantic feelings for Molly Hooper. What do you suggest I should do to convince her that my intentions are serious, and sincere?"

The blond-haired girl took a spoonful of her dessert, and then another one, pondering on the question. She was considering if her uncle would be inclined to let her have a taste of his ice cream, when he lost his patience. "It would be nice to have an answer before closing time, Lizzie!".

The little Watson let out a resigned sigh, before replying. "If I were you… I would kidnap her, as pirates do. She reads me a lot of stories about pirates, you know…"

A silly grin started to form on Sherlock's lips. "Elisabeth Sheryl Watson, you're really the cleverest member of your family."

"Really? Even more intelligent than Mummy?"

"Yes. But don't tell her that I told you that", the consulting detective requested, before pushing his cup full of melted ice cream to his god-daughter. "Oh, and Lizzie…"

"Yes, Uncle Sherlock?"

"That thing I said to you about foetus… let's keep it between us, ok? And also all this conversation about Molly..."

"Ok… But one day you will explain to me what is a foetus, and a womb, won't you?".

 ** **Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.****


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